The Marvel Initiative: Avengers: Heroes Rule
by Boneyboy and Curleyblue
Summary: My take on the marvel universe and all that happens, with a new team! guest starring various villains heroes and YOU!


Ok, so I'm writing something sorta new here, I think it'll be worth the time for me, It's sorta like my take on the Marvel Universe, How it's happening right now, how I'd do it, and how much fun I can make this. I call this little favorite idea of mine…

**The Marvel Initiative: Heroes Rule The World**

Okay, so the title's a little bit corny, but anyway, to my readers, If you send me an original character and give me permission to use them, I'll include them in future chapters, that's right, YOU get to decide who's in the story, should you wish, just include a profile of your character (Real name, hero name, powers, etc.) in a direct message or in the review, and I'll try to work in everyone. So let's get it all started by saying I do not own Marvel Comics, That belongs to them.

Chapter 1: My Name Is Mr. Prince

I suppose the first thing you need to know, is who I am and what I'm doing here, and what you're doing here, sitting here reading this, but as I write this story, it becomes more than just a story; it becomes real. The reality of it all sinks in with each word, and the fact that all that I write to you has happened, or is happening, or will happen, but you just don't know it. All that happens here, it's bigger than anybody normal, it's bigger than anybody not normal, it's what decides the destiny of our species, and yours…

But that doesn't answer your questions does it? This will, and any other questions that will come.

My name is Trace Prince, the Lord of the Ladies, the bridge between hellions and angels, but most importantly, I'm not at all human… well, not ALL human anyway, If you wanted specifics, I am a genetically modified half-vampire. You heard me right. HALF-VAMPIRE. I get all kinds of powers, and a few weaknesses, and a fun new perspective on the term "normal". With whatever "normal" means to a half-breed genetic freak with power that humans were never intended to have…

So, now that you know about me, what are my powers? Well, being half-vampire, I get superhuman strength; superhuman speed, regenerative healing factor, (I can even regrow organs and limbs, gross huh?) and I get a "vampire form" which is sorta like the Hulk, except all blood sucky, and murderer-y… but I can die, if I don't feed on blood or souls, every few months or so, my powers get out of control and I could die. Ever since discovering my power, it sorta makes it hard to be around people… oh yeah, I also excrete a pheromone; for anybody not a scientist, it means I transmit a chemical that makes women irresistibly attracted to me. Useful for a blood-sucking vampire, huh? And before you make a joke, NO, I do NOT sparkle like the little whiny bitches in Twilight. They know NOTHING of what being vampires are like...

But, then again, I said I was a genetically modified vamp, right? Well, If you keep up with the Marvel Universe, I got strange stuff; First, the Super-Soldier Serum, so I'm part Captain America, except without the gay-ish costume. The Molten Heart of Shou-Lao the Undying, which somehow fused itself to my own heart, So I get to manipulate energy to turn my punches into "iron fists" So I'm also part Iron Fist. Next, blood of a phoenix, (how the hell they got the stupid thing, I have no idea), which allows fire manipulation, and a "hellfire punch" so yeah, part Captain Falcon, anything else I can do is all tech, you know, swords, guns, whips, shades, a fedora, a stylish cloak, and a hi-tech bike.

I know what you're thinking, "I'm a super powered Batman or Taskmaster, or Moon Knight, and I'm too perfect, I can't die." Well I may look hot, but I am NOT immortal, I can't count how many times I could have died, and how many times I managed to cheat Death, and how many more times I may be able to escape her cold embrace. And besides, I'm NOTHING like Batman; He's an anger management case, and an angst cushion, who needs a new name, and a punch in the face…

So anyway, want more personal stuff? I'm 19, have jet-black hair, have a fair build, and have red eyes. Cool, huh?

Yeah, I've been a hero for a while, ever since I was 15, which is hard to distinguish from my looks, (healing factors retard my age, so I'm always in my prime, who said no one could be forever young?) I prowl the streets in a quiet little town called East Brunswick, in New Jersey. It's a nice place, full of reasonably good people. But still, like all places with impressionable, and quite frankly, stupid-ass teenagers, it has its dangers. It has its crimes. It has its sins. I'm only here to make sure that everybody can sleep well at night, without worrying about what stupid things someone else does.

The night tonight is a summer night, a night that not many people actually do illegal stuff, aside from a few drug deals here and there. But, due to my dumb luck, it has to be prom weekend.

Sure everybody thinks prom night is one of the most magical, fun, awesome moments of his or her lives. Not for me though. For me, it means a whole night of me saving drunken guys from jumping off rooftops, trying to get drunken girls that are trying seduce me to leave me alone, and beating up drug dealers trying to slip ecstasy in everyone's drinks. Prom night is not one of my favorite times of the year!

It's a humid night tonight, I can feel the moisture in the air, and it feels like a shroud so thick I could cut it with a knife. I stand on the rooftops of Seaside, where most of the kids in prom somehow wind up.

I think to myself, "How did I get this stupid gig?" But then I somehow constantly remind myself, "If I don't do it, then people get hurt, and then that 'sense-of-duty guilt' would come back to bite me in the ass, so suck it up."

That's always what I tell myself, so I won't just turn in for the night, and leave the little ingrates down there to their half-deserved fate. But sometimes, I wonder, I should be getting paid for this… oh wait; I had that whole conversation with my sister…

_Backing up to earlier today, I had just gotten up from a well-deserved sleep, something that's hard to come by in the superhero line of work. As I slowly make my way to the kitchen table and try to get breakfast, my sister, Abby Momochi, Who I live with in order to avoid the hastle of too much rent, comes in. Her hair is a mess, but then again, it always is. She's normal, by my standards anyway, 18 years old, blue eyes, and curly blond hair, and she also walks with a limp, as a result of cerebral palsy. She's one of the few people who know my secret, how I go to be a hero._

_She sits down at the table, and moans a greeting, typical. I just ignore her and keep eating._

_She then finally mutters words in English, "You going out again?"_

"_Yeah, it's prom weekend, someone's gotta make sure they all live."_

"_Why you though? Can't the cops do it?"_

"_You know damn well why, cops don't care enough to actually pay attention to the inner stuff."_

"_Still, does it HAVE to be you?"_

"_I got the power, so it comes with responsibility…"_

"_Fine, don't get all 'Spider-Man' on me," She sulks as she gets up from the table, "just make sure you come home without bleeding on the floor, ok?"_

I sigh, she's right though; did it REALLY have to be me? Of course, because cops don't make the cut…

It's during this little inner monologue of turmoil that I notice another limo pull up out of the corner of my eye, it looked like all the other ones that kids have, same white body work, same black tinted windows, and same old drunken teenagers probably going to tumble out…

Although, when the doors open up, surprisingly, it's not kids I see inside, it's full grown men, in black suits. They sorta look like they're from "Men In Black" or Secret Service guys. But then a much _larger _man stepped out. He had to be at least 300 pounds! He had a black scraggy beard, gray overalls, and had a huge cigar in his fat cracked lips.

He pointed to one of the suited men, "{All right, you two take the left side, the rest of you take the right. Remember, we have to get the girl, or else…}" he says in a congested sounding voice.

Oh, shit. Russian. And last I remember, my Russian is still rusty. I lean forward a little bit, to try and listen in on what "tons o' fun" here is saying, but all I'm picking up is something about vodka, and spicy goat cheese? Like I said, Russian is rusty.

That's when I notice four of the guys split up in pairs and take something out of their coats, _"Oh dear lord…"_ I think, _"They're packing MAC-10's! This just got heavy…"_

Yeah, clearly, this wasn't my night. Russian guys with MAC-10's trying to ambush and possibly kill some drunken teenagers? This was just getting stranger and stranger, like an M. Night Shyamalan movie with a conceivable plot, or a Michael Bay movie that wasn't incoherent battle footage.

So should I stop the Russians? On one hand, I could stop them, risk getting shot repeatedly, and pissing off some powerful mafia dudes, but be a hero, or I could just ignore it, get some much needed rest to the melodic sound of gunfire and dying. I consider the latter, but there it is again, that "sense-of-duty" crap again. I was here, I had the power to stop the senseless violence, and I had a responsibility. Damn you, Spider-Man, and your cliché morals… So I go with the former.

I jump from my now cozy rooftop, and reach into my holster around my waist. The leather grip of my gun just feels right. I would know since I made it. I land in the bushes right nearby, as light as a feather, almost ninja-like.

Damn, I am THAT kick-ass.

I start moving towards the left, where two men are slowly moving towards the beach house. They haven't caught on to me yet. I put on my shades and straighten my black fedora. This is gonna be a long, rough, and painfully annoying night. I sneak up behind the first thug, he's armed with a MAC-10, but I am pretty fast, so I could take him before he twitches his trigger finger.

I'm so close to him right now that I could breathe on him and He'd know I was there. Lucky for me though, that I have the element of surprise.

I sucker punch the man on the back of the head. He topples over and hits the ground. I then stomp on his head to knock him out. One down, four to go…

The second guy is just around the corner of the house. He has his gun out and he's doing a perimeter check. I slowly reach for one of my swords on my back; a katana to make the job easier. I contemplate just gutting him and leaving him, but then I decide against it. These guys may be trying to whack a poor stupid kid on their prom night, but leaving bodies and blood around for cops and civilians to find would create more problems than it solves…

I draw my blade from my right shoulder; as pure black as the ebony night, I have named it The Dark Angel, for it's euphoric, angelic, yet dark, cold appearance and it's equally dark, brutal, fatal sharpness. Its counterpart, The Light Devil, lays in its sheath overlooking my left shoulder. It's pure white as new fallen snow, yet is a flash of deadly sharp silence. They make two of the best weapons in my arsenal. But I only need one for this bozo, he's not worth two… I wait for my next target to come to a precise position. If he would just come a few more feet, then I'll have him at my mercy in a matter of seconds…

He steps forward with his left foot. There. Now is my chance. I quickly turn the blade downward and stab at his foot, with the blade's ringing sound of piercing flesh ringing in my ears. I then quickly place a hand over his mouth to quickly silence him before he alerts anyone nearby. With that, I turn the corner and slam his head against the side of the house, and he's down. Two down, three to go…

I hear some rustling noise, and sounds in Russian, "{Hold on, I think I heard something in the left perimeter, I'm gonna check it out…}"

Crap, he must've heard the slam, or the guys screaming! I bolt for a nearby tree, leaping up to the branches where I'd be safe from discovery, as I quickly clean off blood from my sword, and sheath it again.

The third Russian had made his way to the spot, and noticed his fallen comrade. As the man rushed over to aid him, I take the initiative to silently work my way through the tree limbs of the surrounding trees in order to make my way behind him. As he reaches for his communicator to alert his fellows, I pull out another weapon of my arsenal: The Storm Whip. I lash it to wrap around the man's leg. He barely has time to comprehend the situation he's in before he's hanging upside down in front of me. I then kick him in the face and he's rendered out for the count. Three down, two to go…

The fourth man is already paranoid and scared out of his socks. He probably hadn't heard from his buddies in quite some time and began to panic about the unexpected radio silence. He takes out his MAC-10 and holds it shakily, as his breathing becomes more and more shallow. With every miniscule step he takes, his eyes race to every corner. He's sweating bullets. Perfect.

I pick up a tiny stone from the ground, just what I need to make this guy slip up and fail so badly…

I lob it above him, and it comes to a landing just behind him, as he hears the stone fall, he reflexively spins around and shoots at the air behind him. With that, he's made the fatal mistake of turning his back on me. I rush him and knock him out before he can register an attack. Four down, one to go…

I look around to the front of the house. The fat man isn't there, but it's pretty obvious where he is. I turn around to peer into the window. Inside, the fat man is there, and he's got a HUGE M61 Vulcan Cannon in his hands and the same fat cigar in between his teeth. But what concerns me is the fact that there's a girl who's holding a guy in her arms at the receiving end of the gun. The guy's likely passed out, and she looks scared to death. I decide to take the quick, but obviously painful route.

I jump through the front window headfirst. I know, it sounds insane, right? But this is just my luck for letting this monster get anywhere close to the civilians.

As I get through the broken glass, the fat man turns his giant gun on me and opens fire. This isn't good, as the giant bullets slice through me like Swiss cheese, the pain is excruciating, but I know I'll make it.

As he stops his rapid-fire assault, he takes the time to notice that I'm not at all dead. In fact, he notices my Vampiric-healing factor in action, as the bullets in my body are forcibly pushed out and the flesh and blood closing up and healing like nothing had happened. He looks at me in surprise.

I decide it's best to reply with a rapid-fire assault of my own. I draw both of my guns, both tri-shot, rapid fire, armor piercing, guns that make me both stylish and deadly… (A/N: they look like two Cerberus guns from Final Fantasy VII with sub-automatic pistol workings).

I hold them gangster-style, and fire away! I'll punish him with such a huge hail of bullets that he'll be the world's biggest block of cheese and… wait. I look at the man, he's still standing, still in one piece and still very much not dead… I look in amazement. Looking down, I notice that the bullets are on the floor, still smoking from the attack. So, wait… bullets on the ground… plus "Lardski" here with no visible wounds… if it equals what I think this equals, then we are hip deep in disgusting stereotypes and one hell of a fight. The bullets BOUNCED off this guy!? He has so much blubber that he's impervious to bullets!?

Ok, We have a problem… this guy is NOT normal… He laughs with a horrible chuckle, and again points his giant-ass gun at the girl.

Little does he know that by doing so, he's just earned the rage that is me.

I dive to get in between them. He's raised his gun to smash her to bits. I guess he wants to prolong the suffering or something. Big mistake. I quickly raise my own guns in defense, if I play this right, maybe only I may be the dead body here, and get the civilians out of here. I parry his giant weapon, and boy, does it hurt! The ground underneath me cracked under the weight. I look behind me to the girl. She's still cradling some boy's head in fear. As far as I can tell, the guy's unconscious, probably from the booze that still saturates the air, and she's got a few scratches and bruises but nothing to serious.

I shout to her, "Go! Go! Get out of here!" She seems to get the message, as she quickly drags her unconscious friend towards the door. But the Russian would probably not let that fly. So I decide to try and distract him. Using one arm, I can hold the gun for a good few seconds, which should be plenty of time for what I'm about to do… I quickly remove one gun from underneath it and point it to the side of his barrel. Firing a shot, the giant gun is moved the side, taking the weight off me.

I jump back to get some distance between us, firing a few rounds to distract him. The Russian then swings his gun in an arch, firing another storm of bullets, trying to peg me. I quickly holster my guns and take out the third of my three swords; unlike the other two katanas, this one is a massive broadsword, a blade that is a platinum-black finish, that's notched on both sides on the tip of the blade with a symbol that combines a lightning bolt, a sun, and a whirlpool in the middle of the blade where the notches meet. Its power has no equal. I named it after the blade of Sir Lancelot of Camelot: Alondite.

I quickly spin in the air in order to gain momentum as I pull the sword from the scabbard directly facing up on my back. The blade holds true to its durability and protects me from the painful, and otherwise time-consuming bullets. I land on the ground behind a couch, which with the barrage of bullets coming, I'd never last a minute.

So I decide to end this, it's gone long enough. I use what strength I have left to make a break for the fat man. Of course, the moment I do, He riddles me full of holes, but I heal as I run, so I get progressively closer to him. I make my move, I throw Alondite towards him, intending to cut him or stab him right through his head. Of course, he anticipates it and dodges to the left. But I saw that he would dodge it. So I jump, and step up his Vulcan cannon barrel, and quickly pull out the twin pistols. This was it. His body might've been invincible to me, but could his head and face be that strong? Now is when I find out.

I aim right for his eye sockets, and fire away. I hear every continuous bang of bullets firing, and the piercing squishy sound of bullets penetrating his fleshy innards. Blood was all over me right now, as his head tilted back from the ongoing punishment, his eyes are already long gone. But I hold fast, as bullets start entering his mouth. Huh, so that's what it means to "eat lead"…

As his gun finally stops firing, I jump from his corpse, and walk over to where my sword landed, and sheathed it. As I wipe some blood from my clothes, and blow smoke from my barrels, I can't help but notice the smell in the air, and I realize it's the flesh of fatass over there… and I thought he smelled bad on the outside…

Before I have time to recover, a whole squad of police cars pull up and screech to a halt in front of me, the cops are getting out and pulling their weapons,

They shout to me, "Hands in the air! NJPD! Drop your weapons!"

I think for a moment, I have no desire to fight cops, and even though they stand little to no chance against me, I'm a hero, I don't fight law enforcement…

So I put down my guns and surrender. Only thing I could do right? Well, One cop ran over to me, and hit me with the butt of a shotgun, I fall unconscious, this is just great….

I wake up, a few hours later, or at least I think it was a few hours. Time passes by when you're knocked out. I look around me, I'm handcuffed to a table, and it looks like I'm in an interrogation room. This sucks, I do all the work for the cops, and this is repayment? Justice.

A door across the room opens, and a man walks inside, he is a black man, probably about 6 foot 2. He had a few files in his hands, and from what I could feel from this guy, he was a combat veteran. The most peculiar thing about him, was that he had three scars down his face, and an eye patch over his left eye.

He sits down across from me. He tosses the files on the table as he said, "You've been busy here, Mr. Prince. Seems kind of beneath you to be caught by cops, doesn't it?"

I struggle to speak, "Who are you, and what do you want with me?" I ask?

He leans forward to me as he responds, "Colonel Nick Fury. Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm here to talk to you about your future."

TBC

Okay, I'm gonna stop here, so if you want a character of your own in here, tell me in a private message or review, but if you know me personally, do NOT use my real name! use my author name: Boneyboy! Read and Review!


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